Sucked In
by ZevieObsessed2012
Summary: I'm Zander Robbins. I'm twenty-two years old. I live in Los Angeles, California. . .for the last fortnight, I've been living in a jail cell. Why? It all started four and a half years ago, when my best friend and secret crush went missing. Stevie Baskara. I'm sitting in this jail cell right now, because only I knew she wasn't dead. . .Isn't dead.
1. Chapter 1 - Introductions

**A/N: Alright, here's chapter one of the new story! I hope you like it!**

I'm Zander Robbins.

I'm twenty-two years old. I live in Los Angeles, California. . .for the last fortnight, I've been living in a jail cell. Why?

It all started four and a half years ago, when my best friend and secret crush went missing. Stevie Baskara. She was sixteen years old, and the sweetest, yet scariest, gentlest, yet toughest girl I'd ever known.

I was seventeen, a few months older than her. Ladies' man, unknown musician, senior in high school. She was almost seventeen, and we had most of our classes together.

I'm sitting in this jail cell right now, because it's been four and a half years since her disappearance, and all of Los Angeles thinks I had something to do with it. Why?

Because only I knew she wasn't dead. _Isn't _dead.

But nobody believes I'm innocent. Why? Because I know she's alive, but nobody believes that I truthfully have no idea where she is. I should hate her for sucking me into this. But I don't.

I still remember when I found out she was alive, and okay. I still don't know why she disappeared. But I do know that she's hiding from something. Something she still hasn't told me about. Five years.

Tell me how I'm still sane.

Tomorrow I go back to the courtroom, and if I "lie about her whereabouts"—supposedly "where I'm keeping her" (as the judge accuses). . .I go to prison for the rest of my life, and she gets tracked down.

I don't hate her. In fact, I'm still in love with her. Why?

Damn it, I wish I knew too.

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**October 13th, 2013, 5:37 AM**_

_**City Jail for Men, Los Angeles, CA**_

I'm Zander Robbins. Twenty-two years old. Homeless, jobless, alone. My parents disowned me, my "_friends_" only visit when they're looking for answers, and my crush since high school hasn't tried to contact me in months.

Stevie used to send videos. . .and then one day they stopped. A week later, still nothing. Two weeks later? Nothing. A month later. . .jail.

I've been to court more times than I can count. Stevie's parents despise even the sound of my name. My parents have changed their names, left Los Angeles and forgotten my existence. My life's become tumbleweed. Lonely and blowing in the wind. Endlessly spiraling.

But yet I still love Stevie, and I can't figure out why.

I'm hopelessly in love. Doesn't make much sense, not even to me.

**A/N: Okay, so I know this is INCREDIBLY late! I'm so sorry! I've been stuck using my phone for the internet because I was having some computer troubles lately, and it really sucks typing on my phone, so I really didn't bother doing it, but here's the update! And yes, this is so short, but again, computer problems, but the next chapter will be longer, so please let me know what you think? So sorry once again!**


	2. Chapter 2 - Freak Out

_**October 13th, 2013, 10:17 AM**_

_**Los Angeles Courthouse, Los Angeles, CA**_

I've been sitting in this courtroom for about. . .a good three hours now?

This chair is as uncomfortable as hell, and the cuffs around my wrists are already starting to slowly—but surely—cut off the circulation in my wrists. I can barely keep my eyes open—sleep deprivation does that. I've been keeping myself up at night.

Overthinking, or just waiting until the next long day. The more I sleep, the more I start to think about Stevie. The more I think about Stevie, the more harm I cause myself. The more harm I cause myself, the closer I get to a prison cell.

I don't mean physically hurting myself. I mean mentally. The more I think about Stevie as I sleep, the more I let slip. The judge and the cops don't think I know it that I'm on 24/7 watch, but I do. I'm not stupid. I know by confessing everything, I'd only be digging my grave deeper.

No one believes me now, so what makes me think they'll believe what I say?

"Mr. Robbins?" the judge demands. My eyes snap open and I look at the judge nervously.

"Y-Yes?"

"The time for sleeping is not right now. _You are in court_." The judge gave me a harsh stare, and I gulped loudly. I nod my head quickly and blink the sleep from my eyes. She turns her attention back to my representative lawyer.

I'm grateful for my representative lawyer. . .I haven't given him much to work with to win this case, but he's using all he can from me to help prove my innocence. . .but I know I'm not innocent. I know that if I had just walked away from that very first video Stevie sent me four and a half years ago, I wouldn't be in this mess.

This _never ending mess_.

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**August 22nd, 2008, 12:36 PM**_

_**My Apartment, Los Angeles, CA**_

_It was Stevie's seventeen birthday, and right then, I would've given anything to have her here in Los Angeles. Back home, safe, sound. I wanted to tell her happy birthday. . .but she wasn't here, and no one knew where she was. _

_I was sitting in my room on my computer. I was busy just visiting my usual websites: Facebook, Twitter, etc. I'm not sure what it was, but something about that day made me check my emails. I had some feeling telling me to. . .like, maybe there was something there that I _needed_. _

_Then I saw it. _

_I scrolled the mouse across the computer screen until it rested on the pause/play button. My hands were shaking a little, but I wasn't really sure why. I clicked the button and watched as the video started up. _

_It buffered for a few seconds, but then Stevie appeared in the small window. She took a deep breath—she looked tired, and ready to pass out any second. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. I looked at the speakers and saw they were on. _

_Then Stevie spoke. Her voice was quiet and slow._

"_Hey. . .Zander. Um. . ." she closed her eyes for a moment, pondering what to say next. "I, um, I'm okay. I'm not hurt or anything. Sorry that I disappeared so suddenly. . .look, you need to keep this to yourself. Don't tell anyone that I'm contacting you, got it?" _

_I thought about stopping the video right then. I wanted to hand it over to the police so they could find her and bring her back. But she looked so upset and serious, that I kept watching. _

"_I'm in some. . .trouble. But don't worry, I'll fix it. Don't email a response back. The email's not mine. Anyway, uh. . .I'm seventeen today. . ." she said sadly. She forced the corners of her lips to turn up a little bit, and shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. I knew she wasn't really trying to look happy. _

"_You probably already knew that though, huh? Look, Z, just don't tell Kacey, or Nelson and Kevin, or my family about this, okay? It'll be our secret. I trust you, Zander. . .don't make me regret it." _

_She reached forward and then the video ended. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the screen blankly. How was I going to keep this to myself? _

_The girl of my dreams and fantasies was _alive! _She was breathing, living, okay! But she was so secretive, and looked so broken. . .what _would _I tell people? _

Don't make me regret it._ Those words echoed through my brain. I couldn't tell. _

_So, I didn't._

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**October 13th, 2013, 10:17 AM**_

_**Los Angeles Courthouse, Los Angeles, CA**_

Even now that I'm sitting in court. . .I still haven't told them _anything_ I know about Stevie. To be honest, I don't know a lot of things about her. Is she okay right now?

I haven't heard from her in months. . .and "my crime" has gone worldwide. Knowing she's heard about it, she wouldn't be dumb enough to email me anymore. She stopped emailing me a long time ago anyway. . .

I feel a large, painful contraction in the center of my chest. . .my heart. I miss her so much. . .but none of this makes sense! Why do I still love her? Why?

She put me into this situation. Turned my life upside down.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I feel another contraction and the next thing I know, I'm flipping out in front of everyone. The judge, the officers, the jury. They're all pressed back into their seats terrified as the guards wrestle me out of the room.

I try desperately to tear the cuffs apart and free my hands, but it's no use. I can't break them. So, I kick and scream and cry and let all my frustration out, but it's no use. I still feel used and angry and hurt. The guards force me back into my cell and the judge calls an end to the trial.

The next thing I hear the officer say as he locks the gate to my cell is, "_Good luck in prison, kid._"

**A/N: Okay, I just had to post a second chapter tonight (2 in 1 night, woo!) because I feel awful about the first one! So, I hope you enjoyed both! Please let me know what you thought? Thanks, loves!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Nightmare

**A/N: Okay, so thanks for the reviews, darlings! I've been busy, but here's another chapter! I'm going to send out some replies! **

**Lulunatic14: Haha omg, I just realized what October 13th is! xD that was totally unintentional! It was the first date I thought of haha. As for August 22nd, that was totally intentional, and I'm so glad you already love the story!**

**LunarEclipse22428: I love your reviews, I'm not even joking. You're one of the people here that I actually almost fangirling over getting a review from! xD I'm not really sure why though, I mean your reviews are lovely and they're helpful and nice, but they just get me so excited!**

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**Date and Time Unknown**_

_**Location Unknown**_

_The only sound in the house is the sound of my footsteps. I feel dizzy and disoriented. . .why am I here? Where am I? _

_I can hear a small whimpering from somewhere inside the house. I raise my eyebrows and continue walking towards the sound of the crying. _

_I know the tone. . .it's Stevie's crying. I want to run, and I force myself forward, but I can't run. . . I just keep walking. I continue to fight, but I can't move any faster. _

_There's a scream suddenly, and then I find my strength. I throw myself forward and find the room where she is. As I burst through the door I see her lying on the bed. Is this my room? _

_It's too dark, I can only see her figure. _

_But there's another figure. I can't make out any features. . .they're faceless. I feel a wave of panic come over me, and although I want to run. . ._

_I can't. I can't leave Stevie. _

_She watches me, crying unstoppably. The figure watches me, daring to move. _

_I've seen this figure before. I've had nightmares about him since I was young. A faceless man. . . a monster. He's always trying to hurt someone. . ._

_And he's done it this time. Stevie's dying on my bed. _

_Her blood is all over the place and she gasps and chokes fragments of sentences and words. The dark, faceless figure drops his knife—is that what it is? It's too dark to tell. _

_He walks toward Stevie, who unsuccessfully tries to get away. She can't though, she's lost too much blood and her eyes are becoming foggy and unfocused. She gasps my name over and over again, clutching her wounds, but it's no use. _

_The faceless man picks her up and brings her out of the room. I follow behind, unable to move my body—it's moving on its own. He brings her to the bathroom and puts her in the tub which is already full of water. _

_She watches him. Her crying's gone from helpless, horrible sobbing, to quiet, stuttered breathing and hiccups. "Please don't hurt me anymore," she begs, not daring to move. _

_The faceless figure just begins to gently wash her wounds. She hisses in pain, but seems to relax a little. "I. . .I know you didn't mean to hurt me like this," she says quietly. _

_I watch, not believing what I'm seeing. Is she forgiving him? _

_The figure says nothing. He just gently wets a cloth and brushes it against her skin. She hisses again and slams her eyes shut. Then the figure speaks, but it's more of a whisper. . ._

_A whisper I know, but can't make out. "Of course I didn't. . .I just got angry. . .you'll be okay." _

_And she trusts him. She nods her head and her big brown, doe-like eyes watch him carefully. How can she just trust him. . .trust this figure like he hadn't tried to kill her? _

_Once her wounds are cleaned up, the figure turns to face me quickly. This figure's even scarier than I remember from my childhood nightmares. Suddenly, his hands push against my chest and the next thing I know. . .I'm falling. _

_Like there's no end. Just falling. _

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**October 14th, 2013, 2:57 AM**_

_**City Jail for Men, Los Angeles, CA**_

I sit up quickly, yelling out.

I curse under my breath and wipe the sweat from my forehead. This is ridiculous. . . I keep having nightmares. The faceless figure, Stevie, my apartment. . .I don't get it. None of it makes sense! I keep having these dreams, and they're driving me crazy!

Footsteps walk by my cell and I keep as still as possible.

The door slides over and an officer comes in. "I was just coming to wake you up," he says.

"W-Why?" I ask, wiping more sweat off of my face. The room is chilly and damp, as usual.

"You're leaving." He says. That's it. He leads me out of the cell.

"This early?" I ask, following him, continuing to wipe the sweat off my head. I can't help it, I was pretty freaking scared. But then the officer's words dawn on me. . ._You're leaving_. . .I'm going to prison. . .

But it's so early!

It's only three in the morning. . .that can't be right.

"Where am I going?" I ask. The officer says nothing, and just cuffs my wrists. He walks behind me, holding my cuffs tightly. We continue to walk.

I don't want to go to prison. . .I didn't do anything wrong!

It's all out of my hands though. . .I can't do anything.

I'm going to prison.

**A/N: Hm… what do you think Zander's nightmare means?**


	4. Chapter 4 - First Impressions

**A/N: Alright, it's been a while since I've updated this one (or any of my stories lol), but this one is still under majoring editing. I'm going to try to keep writing this story despite the major editing. Here we go! **

**(No replies today, I'm so sick right now and just want to get this updated ASAP. Sorry loves!)**

**|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|\/|**

_**October 14th, 2013, 3:15 AM**_

_**City Jail for Men, Los Angeles, CA**_

"Good morning," a woman says, coming into the room. She's wearing a blak pencil skirt and white blouse tucked into the waist. The clicks of her heels on the floor echoes around the room, and I cringe; they seem awfully loud so early.

"I don't see what's so good about it," I mumble, yawning. "It's too damn early for this."

"Not for me. I'm the psychologist here, I come in when I'm called," she says with a sick smile. "Standby, I guess you can call it. I'm here to make sure that we get the full story. That way we, as in the community, can decide whether or not you go to a mental institution. . . or prison."

I scoff.

"This isn't a game, Mr. Robbins; though you may feel you're living in one, you aren't. I take my job very seriously, and if I prove you sane enough to go to prison, I won't feel sorry."

"Rawr," I deadpan, rolling my eyes. I couldn't care less about what she's saying to me. I know I'm going to prison. I can't really remember why I'm going to prison. . . all I know is that I'm not insane, and there's a cell in prison with my name engraved in the walls.

She puts down a good stack of files on the table in front of me. Something shifts in the air, we can both sense it. "You know why you're here. . . you're hiding behind the traumatized-person act. Pretending you're so in-shock that you can't remember what you did that got you here."

"Yeah, it's all an act," I reply. Okay, so the sarcasm isn't helping my case _at all_, but this woman really is a bitch. Aren't psychologists supposed to be helpful or something?

"Look," she spits, furrowing her eyebrows furiously. "I'm not a person to be messed with. I have proved cases even the best psychologists couldn't."

"Then how come you're not one of the bests, apparently?" I smirk. "Is this just your ego being sore with jealousy?"

She sighs, obviously taking my words harshly. "You know what you did."

"Actually, I don't," I answer honestly. I don't know what happened to me. All I know is that I received a bunch of videos, and proof that Stevie's still alive. I know I'm hear because everyone thinks she's dead and that I have something to do with it, but they're wrong.

"You killed Stevie Baskara. Remember that?" the psychologist smirks. Funny, she's not one for small talk; I didn't even get her name. Not that I actually care to know it, but who cares?

"I didn't kill her," I respond calmly. I keep eye contact with my psychologist as I speak; eye contact is key. If you keep eye contact, they won't think you're lying.

Usually.

"Then where is she?" she asks me, leaning forward on the desk. For a split second, I'm distracted by the way her elbows curve in slightly. It's freaky.

Back on track, I reply, "I can't tell you where she is. All I know is she's alive and I didn't hurt her. Where she is, I can't tell you because I don't know. Look, how is any of this going to determine whether or not I go to prison? These are questions the police would ask, not a psychologist. Shouldn't you be asking me questions about myself pshycologically?"

She looks utterly embarrassed for a split second, but masks it quickly. "Right. Getting ahead of myself, I suppose." Her voice is calm and quiet, almost like the interrogation only moments ago hadn't happened.

"Tell me, Zander—" _oh, now it's first names?_ I wonder to myself. "—do you have nightmares?"

I think this over a few minutes. "I wouldn't call them nightmares. . ." I begin. "They're dreams, but they almost seem like flashbacks."

"Can you describe them?" she asks, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk before me. She pulls out a pad and scrawls on it with an ink pen until the ink appears on the page. Once she's ready, I begin.

"There's always this. . . anonymous figure. And Stevie, and then myself. We're always in my apartment, and the figure always hurts Stevie. Somehow. And then, in the end, he's caring for her and making sure she's okay. None of it makes any sense to me, and I don't get why I'm having these nightmares."

"Sometimes nightmares are ways of alerting us of future situations—or they help us realize things in past situations that we didn't realize before. Or sometimes we have nightmares that shadow the truth; they make the real situations unrecognizable, sometimes even beyond psychological help."

"I don't think my nightmares are shadowing anything. I think my brain's trying to tell me there's something that I'm missing. I can't remember anything after—" I trail off, not sure if bringing up the videos is a good idea.

"After?" she prompts, staring at me intently.

". . .not after. I meant before," I reply quickly. "Before I was taken into custody and put on trial. I don't care if I get locked up in prison, or in some freaking asylum—"

"—mental institution," she corrects.

"Whatever," I snap, rolling my eyes. "I don't care where I get locked up. All I know is that I want this to all go away."

"You know it won't go away like it's nothing. We will figure out what happened, and then we will see where you end up from there."

I nod my head, and finally she calls the guard back. My psychologist dismisses me and the guard leads me back to my jail cell. _Home, sweet home._ _Not._

**A/N: So, that's all I've got for this! Sorry for any errors. Microsoft Word won't work for me tonight, so I don't have word count or spell check. So, any errors I make are pretty much based on that. I would go back and reread, but I'm so sick I'm ready to pass out right now. Much love darlings! :) Let me know what you thought? **


End file.
